on the count of three
by emmaslovebug
Summary: They've been friends for as long as either of them could remember. Living in Storybrooke had many faults, but the perks were each other. This is the story of growing up, losing one's way, only to find their way back to one another.


This is a slightly belated Christmas gift for Lana [potentialheartofdarkness]. It's all about that 'best friends for life' au.

 **A/N** : For the sake of this story, Neal is not in any way related to Milah and Rumple.

 **Disclaimer** : I own nothing but the direction of the story, and my own pair of kickass heels and a Captain Hook funko doll. Some scenes and lines were taken directly from the show.

* * *

There's no such thing as love.

At least, that's what she tells herself.

And if there were such a thing, why does it make her feel so much pain and heartache? No good can come from an emotion that does nothing but tear you down.

Sure, she might have had it… _once._ But that was long ago; before the big move, before her new job, before Neal.

Before everything got so fucking messed up she couldn't think straight and her vision would constantly blur because of the tears.

So, no. Love isn't a thing.

Not for her.

Not anymore.

-/-

 ** _10 Years Ago_**

The ground of the forest floor flattened beneath the soles of her boots; leaves crunched under the weight, a splatter of golden yellow sunlight highlighting the dew that stuck to the edges. Rocks made indentations underneath her shoes and spindly twigs caught the ends of her hair as she ran – running from everything, but running to nothing; getting lost until there's nothing left.

If someone had told her at the beginning of senior year that she'd be going to college, she'd scoff and shake her head at their naiveté. She wasn't made for college; she was made for running and hiding, and surprisingly finding people when they needed to be found.

But she wasn't made for finding herself.

That wasn't in the cards for her.

So, showing back up to the loft to find her parents at the table holding a large white envelope with the royal purple torch in the corner, block letters right underneath, kind of threw her for a second.

She didn't want to apply to colleges. And she spent a long time trying to convince her guidance counselor of this, but "Missy" – as she's taken to calling her, but certainly not to her face – was having none of that.

("Just pick a school, Emma. Any school; preferably someplace that offers a program you'd _actually_ take." She had said, pointedly. "Trust me, you won't regret it. College may not be for everyone, but you won't know until you try, right?"

Emma sighs, wringing her hands together in her lap. She was uncomfortable, not wanting to talk about this at all; her jacket was bunched behind her back because she was too nervous to take it off when she walked in and she's sweating because fucking _Missy_ likes to keep it at an ungodly temperature in here.

She looks around her, at the different college memorabilia on the walls – flags and posters and brochures tucked away in a holder on the corner of the desk. She doesn't know anything about which schools would be the best; which ones would have the best classes or the highest graduation rate or even which ones throw the best parties because according to her friends, "that's all that matters, Em."

So she looks and looks, avoiding all eye contact she can with the woman sitting across from her with an expectant look on her face. Like Emma can pick a school to attend for the next four years in five seconds flat. Finally, her eyes rest on a picture on Missy's desk; of her boyfriend most likely, standing on a bridge overlooking a city skyline, with the sun shining around his head like a halo. Before she even has a chance to catch herself, the words come tumbling out.

"NYU."

Suffice it to say, there was squealing and grinning and yelling – "I can be your reference" or "It's such an amazing school, trust me, you'll totally get in" – and jumping on the counselor's part. Because it just so happens, Emma chose the one school the counselor attended.

 _Fucking great._ )

Now here she was, running away from her problems like always.

Her parents had been ecstatic; shit eating grins on both their faces and astonishment on their lips because neither of them knew she wanted to apply to college (she didn't) or that she'd get in (she's still holding out for the jury on that one).

Sinking to the wet forest floor, she pulls her feet beneath her and leans against the trunk of a nearby tree. She sighs, longingly, all around confused. She doesn't know what to do.

And she really hates disappointing people.

-/-

Her phone buzzes against her skin, shocking her awake. Apparently she dozed off, but it was still daylight out, but just barely. She lifts her hips up to pull her phone about of her back pocket, seeing a familiar name flash on the screen.

Grumbling under her breathe, she hits the green button furiously. "What?" She doesn't care that she's being short with him right now. She's too frustrated to care.

"Well, hello to you too, grumpy pants." She doesn't answer. "Hmm, okay. Well, Ruby and I were just wondering if you wanted to hit up that new café on Church Street tonight? Get some food and maybe catch a late movie?"

She still doesn't utter a word, but she starts to sniffle and he immediately knows something is up. "Emma, what's wrong, love?"

She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of this problem. "I don't—I don't know what to do, Killian."

A few tears fall along her face, landing on her jean clad legs. Amidst the white noise playing in her head she hears him whisper softly, "Are you at your usual place?"

Choking back a sob, she nods to herself before speaking up. "Ye-yeah."

"I'll be there in 15, Swan."

She hangs up quickly, too emotional to utter another word. Dropping the phone beside her, she sets her head back against the tree, her cries echoing into the forest.

She wishes she knew what to do.

-/-

 ** _Present_**

"How's the date going?" Elsa asks, her voice filled with teasing. Emma had called her when she took a 'trip to the ladies room' as she told the guy sitting across from her…Rob? Richard? Something. Who cares.

"Well," she says, tucking the phone underneath her chin and turning the tap on, "considering the amount of times his eyes have landed on my boobs mid-conversation and how many one word answers he's given me, I'd say not well." She catches the eye of the middle aged woman in the mirror at the vanity next to her and tries to hold back a chuckle at the knowing look in the woman's eyes. She smirks in return.

Elsa scoffs in her ear, "Ha, typical." There's a rustling sound, and then a bang. She's probably still at work. "Is the food good at least?"

Turning the water off, she shakes her hands and grabs a couple of paper towels from the rack. "You know as well as I do that these things only last one night, if that." She looks up to see the woman from before giving her a snide look, passing by and throwing her a sound of disgust as the door closes behind her. Looks like was the fastest lived friendship ever. Brows furrowed, she crumples up the paper towel and tosses it away. "Uhm, and yeah, the food is okay. Small portions, though."

She looks in the mirror, smoothing down her skin tight black leather dress. Enough stalling.

"You show him." She chuckles, stapling something together by the sound of the clink over the phone. "Oh! I'll be getting home in about an hour, want to order in and pick it up on your way back? I know you'll definitely be hungry."

"Yeah, sure. I might stop by the bar for a drink first, though. Number 5, right? Side of fries?"

"That's it. Okay, well, I best be getting back. This paperwork won't fill itself out." Clicking of keyboard keys can be heard. "Good luck with…whatever his name is."

"Ha, right. I don't even remember it. Okay, see you."

"See you." The dial tone blares in her ear.

Sliding her phone back beneath the neck of her dress, she looks at herself in the mirror one more time.

She hikes the dress up her thighs about half an inch. _Much better_.

Here goes nothing.

-/-

Her heels are clonking against the asphalt as she attempts to run after him. More like walk at a fast pace, because if she tries to run in these sky high shoes that she's had since high school, she will definitely fall flat on her ass.

(She has to remember to mentally thank Ruby for giving her them back in 11th grade, though. "They're something every girl must own at least once," she had said. Emma agrees. No matter how much they hurt sometimes.)

She knew where he's headed though. She already put the boot on the tire and is just waiting for him to realize it.

Did she fail to mention the reason these dates only last for one night is because she inevitably has to chase them down busy city streets after they _again_ inevitably flip a table and a glass full of wine on her on their hasty rush to get out there?

Well, that's why. Being a bail bondsperson sure does take its toll.

Catching up to him at his car, she sees him staring incredulously at the boot on his car. He flips her the bird, saying, "Really, fucking bitch," before reaching for his phone to dial what she's sure is the number of a tow truck company.

She grabs the handle of the door, flinging it open before taking his phone and tossing it down the street. "No, nuh uh. Pay the rest that you owe, and I'll get the boot off the car. And then, just go back to your family. I'm sure your wife would love to know where you've been." She kicks at the boot idly with the toe of her shoe, waiting for the cash.

She hears him scoff, "What do you fucking know about family?"

Fire runs through her veins, pouring out of her fingertips and into the movement of her crashing his face into the wheel. There's blood dripping from his nose, and maybe a cracked tooth. The honk of the horn where his forehead hit it pulls her back; she stumbles slightly in her heels and says breathlessly, "N-nothing."

-/-

She sways back into the restaurant 20 minutes later, cash in hand, finding an empty seat at the end of the bar to fall into.

The bartender puts a napkin and a bowl of peanuts down in front of her, asking for her order. "Um, just…rum, straight." Then she ducks her head onto one hand, throwing some cash down in front of him while she picks at the nuts. "And keep 'em coming."

She at least got the money back, so she's not completely out of luck.

What he said resonated with her the whole time, though.

Family.

She has one, of course, back home in Maine, the place she left ten years ago to start anew. She kept in contact with them for a little while, the first two years she was in college were a breeze, and she called them regularly.

But junior year came along and so did Neal. She stopped talking to everyone back home; following him around and doing things with him she never thought she'd do. She shoplifted, she drank more often, she started skipping classes to the point where she flunked out.

And then she got pregnant. Twenty years old and she was going to have a baby, and she didn't want that. She wasn't ready. She was barely ready for leaving home to go to college and then this?

He wanted her to keep it, said that he'd be around, care for them. She was hesitant. But she finally agreed.

Then a week before she was due, he split. Left her in the motel room they had been staying at, Doritos in hand when she saw all his stuff was gone. Never to heard from again. Talk about being father of the year.

So, she put up her baby for adoption. She wanted him— _him_ —to have his best chance, and that would never be with her.

But she still hasn't talked to her family. She doesn't know if she ever will be able to face them again.

Now here she is, 28 years old and finally holding a steady job with a roommate whom she adores, but what else?

She's lonely and sad and nostalgic for the past she gave up to come here so long ago.

She misses her mom and dad, Ruby and Victor and Tink, and most of all Killian.

She wonders what they're up to now.

The thump of a glass being sat down causes her head to jerk up, seeing her drink placed in front of her. She sends a silent thanks to the bartender before lifting it up skyward, a cheer of gratitude on her lips. "To family." She takes a large gulp, feeling someone sit down beside her.

Before she can turn around to tell them to leave, she hears a gravelly voice. "I see you still haven't given up rum."

She flips her head around quickly, her hair flying along her shoulders and choking on her drink. Her eyes rest on familiar blue eyes. Shocked, she gasps, taking in his whole face, before whispering, "Killian?"

He just smirks, clinking his glass with hers and shaking his head side to side, "Eighteen year old Emma would be so proud, don't you think, love?"

-/-

 ** _10 Years Ago_**

"I still can't believe you're going to college. How does it feel, darling?" He asks, as he leans against the locker adjacent to hers.

She can answer it truthfully – she's scared as fuck and doesn't know what she's going to do, but she knows that she wants to make her parents proud and after Killian found her in the forest that day a few months ago and calmed her down, she realized without a doubt, that even if she doesn't want to do it for her, she wants to do it for them. Or she can lie, the more attractive option right now – "Like, I can take on the world."

They laugh because they both know it's bullshit, but he pretends to take it at face value and she's all the better for it.

Ruby comes up, Victor in tow with his fingers wrapped around hers.

"NYU, huh, girlie girl? Going to blow us all away in the big old city while we're stuck to University of Maine? Even this one," she points to Killian, "is going to art school! God knows, where Tink's going. We're all going to be apart, that's no fun." She bounces on her heels, her long red and brunette pigtails flouncing against her chest. If there's one thing everyone knows about Ruby, it's that she likes to make a scene and she likes to pout.

Killian points his finger at her, mockingly scolding her. "Put that thing away now. We'll still see each other. On weekend visits and holidays. No need to get so worked up." He wraps his arm around her shoulder, lightly punching Victor on the arm. He looks around at them all, eyes bright and big, genuinely curious. "Right?"

Everyone's silent. Emma thinks to herself that 'yes, he's right, they'll definitely still see each other' but there's still a scary 'what if' that she knows everyone is thinking.

He gets wild eyed when no one says anything for minute. He's a tiny bit frantic when he says, "Right?" again.

She puts a hand on his arm, caressing his wrist and thumb and looking into his eyes. She smiles softly at him, she needs to make him feel better. "You're right."

He breathes a sigh of relief, letting go of Ruby to wrap both his arms tightly around Emma, his face tucked into the crook of her shoulder and it just feels so right. She blinks back tears.

She's going to miss this.

-/-

 ** _Present_**

"Remember that time that we snuck out of our houses and hung out down at the docks until, like, 3 am?"

"Oh my—yes! And when I got back around 5 my parents were sitting at the table, with a packet of 'how to help my reckless child' pamphlets. I swear, why they became friends with the reverend is beyond me. They used to be so laid back." She takes a sip of her coke.

She texted Elsa saying she wouldn't be home any time soon, saying she got caught up with an old friend, and made their way to her favourite diner.

She found out he's been living in the city for the past six months. He said he didn't know where she had ended up, and he didn't know how to contact her until he, luckily, saw her running after the perp in that 'bloody distracting dress.'

He chuckles, picking at the fries on the plate being shared between them. "They were always afraid I'd 'lead you down the wrong path.' What did they think I was going to ask you to do, go skinny dipping or something?"

She holds up a fry, pointing it at his nose, drooping under the weight of the grease. "Ah! But you did ask me, so they weren't too far off."

"And, if I remember correctly, you stripped down to your knickers right next to me." He pokes his tongue out, resting on the corner of his bottom lip. He looks up through his eyelashes, making her blush at the memory.

-/-

 ** _11 Years Ago_**

She checks her watch, the hands reading out 1:30 am. This is crazy. But all the best people are.

Lewis Carroll said it best.

"Okay, so we strip, and then on the count of three, we run. Got it?"

He nods his head, bouncing on his feet. She can feel the excitement and anxiety rolling off of him in waves. "Got it."

She was going to see him naked. Almost naked. She didn't think this through.

He was going to see her naked. Almost naked. He didn't think he could get harder at the thought.

One…buttons are unbuttoned and shoes are sliding off.

Two…hemlines are rising, flat stomachs are bared. The curve of her hips is hypnotizing and the trail of hair going down, down, down below the waistband of his bright blue boxers has her heart racing. Pants are at their ankles, legs bare and bathed in the moonlight.

They drink each other in. Eyes sliding over each other, not realizing that this was what they were missing. To each other, they were beautiful.

They reach out, fingers sliding together, wrapping around each other out of instinct.

Three…and they're off. Leaping off the dock and running through the sand, leaving behind a pile of clothes and restrictions and jumping head first into the unknown.

-/-

 ** _Present_**

They had almost kissed that night. Amongst the starlight and the gentle waves lapping away against their skin and all they saw was each other.

It's so vivid and clear in her mind, like it just happened yesterday.

She remembers the pull in her belly, like a magnet bringing them closer together. She remembers the way his wet hair had been plastered across his forehead, water dripping down the bridge of his nose as he swam closer to her.

He had risen out the water when he got to her, standing above her, her head coming right under his chin and all she could smell was the salt of the ocean clinging to his skin and the rum on his breath that he snuck out with them. She looked up, her eyes wide and innocent, confusion and anticipation obviously written on her face because that's all she had been feeling.

But when he came to touch her face, his fingertips grazing the dimple on her chin and his eyes piercing into hers, she ducked. And ran. Or swam.

She was gone.

They hadn't talked about that night since; they pretended like it never happened. But deep down, every night since, they both dreamed what it would've been like to touch each other, to press their lips on every inch of skin.

She had wanted to know what the heavy weight of him would feel like against her tongue.

He had wanted to know what noises she would make and if the freckles that splattered across her skin made her taste like the cinnamon she always put on her hot chocolate.

Ducking her head, she tries to hide her blush, a curtain of hair falling in front of her face. He seems to be the only guy that could make her feel like a teenager again.

She's still pointing her fry at him, and he's smirking. He moves forward, snatching it with his teeth, his lips grazing her fingers in the process.

He sits back, arms splayed wide across the table. "You and I had quite the eventful relationship, didn't we?" He asks, chewing thoughtfully.

Her finger tingles, her memories not doing any justice to the real thing, sitting across from her making her nostalgic heart beat faster.

But is that all it is? Nostalgia?

Wishing for the times when they used to skip school early and sneak into Granny's for some onion rings or when they would stay up all night, talking about life and friends and what they wanted to do when they grew up.

(They always said they wanted to be with each other; through thick and thin.)

Or wishing for that one time where she slept over at his house after working all night on a project and she woke up with her body tucked into his, his arm slung around her waist, his face in her neck and her ass pressed intimately up against him.

(She went home and laid under the covers reliving that moment for days.)

Sucking in a breath, she nods along, biting her lip to keep from smiling. His eyes follow the movement, drinking her in. "Yeah, that we did."

-/-

She excuses herself to the ladies room after five minutes of just staring at each other, intermittent sips of drinks and the noise of the kitchen interrupting the complete silence.

She needs to breathe. She rushes into a stall, sitting atop the toilet lid with her head in her hands. She just needs to fucking breathe.

It's been years, so many years without him or any of her other friends around. But they still know each other so well.

They know each other's favourite movies and which one prefers ketchup to mustard on their burgers – neither likes mayo.

She knows what it was like for his father to leave him and his brother at such an early age, being taken in my Granny. His brother, Liam, eventually went off into the Navy, sending a new letter every week.

She assumes he still does that; even now that he's married with two kids. She wonders if Killian's met them yet.

He knows that she was taken in by the Nolan's when she was eight years old. Going from foster home to group home to even more foster homes since birth. He nicknamed her Swan because her longest stay anywhere beforehand was the Swan family and he said it fit her because 'he didn't think anyone could be more beautiful.'

They've been together through everything…until now.

Would they still know each other?

She lifts her head, breathing in deeply and shaking off the nerves that have gathered in her shoulders. Standing up, she turns around and used the tip of her heel to flush the toilet to make it seem as if she went.

Leaving the stall, she stares at herself in the mirror. Squaring her shoulders, she looks herself in the eyes.

Determination.

They've got a lot of explaining to do.

-/-

They moved onto coffee and pie; needing something heavier to go along with the conversation topic, it seems.

"Two years?"

She nods, solemnly. "Two years. I had signed up for the classes to take my third year but…you know, life happened." Needing to find something to do with her hands, she picks at the edge of the plate with her thumbnail. "But, at least I have a steady job now, so I'm not entirely worse for wear."

Her eyes are on his hands, wrapped around his mug. She doesn't think she can look him in the eyes right now.

"What happened?"

She looks up, dazed. "Hmm?"

He clears his throat. "Uhm, well, you said life happened. Usually when someone dumbs it down to 'life happens' then, you know, it usually means something bigger happened."

She jumps at the opportunity to change the subject. "Wow, we should finish this pie." Taking a fork, she digs in right through the middle and stuffing her face with it.

All he does is sigh. "Swan, come on." She stops mid bite, not having heard the sternness in his voice for quite a long time. He seems to soften a bit at the look in her eyes. "I'm your best friend, love, you can tell me."

She knows he's being reasonable, but it aggravates her. "Oh, cut the crap, Jones. We haven't even talked in almost eight years, and suddenly we're going to be buddy-buddy again?" She down her coffee, raising her hand to call for another. "I'm pretty sure that's not the way it works."

But he's not taking any of her shit. _Just like old times_. "Bullshit, whose fault was that? We may not have talked, but it's not like I didn't reach out. All those letters I sent you, all those phone calls and texts that got no reply," he says, raising his cup as well to the waitress that comes by. "What, did you think I just wouldn't notice?" His brows are furrowed and there's anger written plainly on his face.

She opens her mouth to speak, but closes it promptly. He's right. After everything that happened while she was in school, she never once tried to contact him, or anyone else, again.

Looking at his face now, she feels guilty. They grew up together, and she treated him like a throwaway object. She knows why she did it though; she didn't want to see his face or hear his voice when he saw what she had done, what she had become.

But he's here now, waiting to hear her out.

"Okay, yeah. You're right." His eyebrows shoot up, surprised she conceded so quickly. "I didn't try."

Might as well give it a shot.

-/-

"I met this, uh, this guy, towards the end of my sophomore year. His name was Neal." She noticed his shoulders tense up, but he just nods his head along. "He was in my Ancient Civ class and always asked to borrow my textbook because he never brought his own. We hit it off pretty quickly, and it was going kind of great, you know?"

He hesitates to answer, a self-deprecating smile on his face. "Yeah, I think I know."

She notices the change in his tone, filing it away to ask about later, and continues on.

-/-

She tells him everything. From skipping classes to quitting school to thinking this was the most stable thing she's had since she found a home with the Nolan's as well as the guy sitting across from her who she used to consider her best friend.

The subject of the theft comes up, how it started small and grew to bigger and bigger things but they never got caught.

He looked shocked, his eyes wide, but he maintained that air of nonchalance.

He's never been one to judge. It's what she always loved about him.

-/-

"I got pregnant."

That broke his façade. He leans forward, arms crossed in front of his chest, brow furrowed. "What?"

"Yep. About seven months into dating," she says. "He wanted me to keep it, but I didn't want to."

"I take it wasn't so easy?"

She outright laughs at that, a sarcastic hateful laugh at what she went through. "He kept saying that he'd 'be the kind of father figure he never had' and that 'he'd take care of us." Her fingers play with the hem of her dress. "I should've known."

"Known what?"

She looks up from the plate she'd been looking at, straight into his eyes. "That'd he'd bail."

He sucks in a sharp breath, anger burning in his eyes. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Took off a week before I was due."

"And…and the child?"

"Oh, I, uh, gave him up for adoption. _Closed_ adoption." She reaches to her plate, crumpling up the edge of the napkin lying on top of the half-finished pie. "Life's funny that way."

His eyebrows crinkle with confusion. "How so?"

She looks him in the eye meaningfully. "To give up one person in your life, just for another to walk back into it."

They smile genuinely at each other for the first time since this conversation started.

-/-

"I gave up on someone just before finding you again. I'd say it just might be fate, love."

They're walking down the sidewalk, towards the park a couple blocks over. She chuckles, an arm wrapped through his, the other buried in her coat pocket to keep warm. "You know I don't believe in fate."

He simply shrugs, stopping at a crosswalk.

Waiting for the light to turn green, she turns her head to him. "Who was it?"

He's not paying attention, looking off in the direction of a couple fighting in front of a cab. "Hmm?"

"Who did you give up on?"

He turns towards her, blue eyes blinking slowly. "Oh, there was this woman, from art school. Small thing really."

They walk when the sign tells them to. She pokes him in the ribs along the way. "And?"

"And," he sighs, "nothing much." He looks over at her, his teeth digging into his lower lip. "She was one of my professor's, actually. We had hit it off quickly, as well, and started seeing each other more and more often; especially outside of classes." He rubs behind his ear awkwardly. "She had a husband, a tenured professor at another school on the other side of town, and I knew about it, but I continued to see her anyways. I fell for her."

They slow down as they reach the entrance to the park, searching for some place to sit as he continues to talk.

"She wanted to leave him; always said that she would. And eventually she did." They find an unoccupied bench next to a fountain, the Christmas lights hanging from the trees above illuminating their faces in the dark. They sit right next to each other, their sides pressed together. "We continued to see each other, and she moved out and into her own place. But…what she failed to mention until later on was that…uhm, was that she had a kid. A young boy, about five or six years old."

"Did she ever go back for him?"

"She wanted to, and I was young at the time, I had just turned twenty-one. So I didn't know much, but I agreed to be there for her. Except, when we went back to negotiate with the husband," he laughs mirthlessly, shaking his head, "that asshole of a husband…he pressed charges for child neglect and abandonment. There was apparently no evidence, according to the police, saying it wasn't true."

She shakes her head, astonished at the idea. She may not be parent material, and she knows what it feels like to be abandoned, but she would've given anything for her biological parents to have wanted to come back for her. "But, how? That makes no sense."

"According to the police, Milah and Rumple hadn't _formerly_ divorced, saying that their boy was still under her care as well. Her up and leaving the way she did, without divorce papers and settlement agreements, meant that her custody over the boy was still full and her leaving was considered abandonment." He rubs his hands along his legs, his fingers clenching into the material of his jeans. "Didn't matter that the husband treated his son like shit."

She turns to him, rubbing a mitten covered hand over his shoulder. "Oh, Killian. I'm so sorry."

He simply looks down, smiling softly in gratitude. "What's done is done, love."

It still doesn't make sense, confusion obviously written across her face. "But, wait, child abandonment? That should really only get you up to two years, depending on how severe the case. Did you not want to wait for her?"

"Oh, I did. She only had a six month stint behind bars; I vowed to wait for her and she said she couldn't wait to see me again. Six months passed, I went to meet her on the day she was supposed to be released. Come to find out, she had been released a week earlier. She never informed me, never tried to find me." He kicks a lone rock with the tip of his boot. "I waited about four more months before I just gave up on her coming back. I didn't have a way to reach her, and she's good at hiding, she wouldn't want to have been found."

She sits, facing forward, her mouth hanging open trying to grasp all he said. "Do you still wish you could find her?"

He nods, simply saying, "Sometimes."

-/-

They sit in silence, each wondering what to say to the other.

Nothing comes.

Her hand falls from where they were clasped together in her lap, landing next to his on his thigh. Her fingers twitch, instinctively wanting to grab on to his, but she's nervous.

And all she wants is to show how grateful she is he's here and she wants to be there for him.

It doesn't need saying. He knows.

-/-

"Do you think it's possible to move on?" He asks.

A few days ago, she would've said no. A few days ago, she would've said fate didn't exist.

Hell, a few days ago, she actually said that love didn't exist for her anymore.

That was before he showed back up in her life; that was before nostalgia reared its ugly – beautiful, gorgeous, handsome – head and made her feel things she hadn't felt since Neal; maybe even since before she left.

She sure hopes it's possible to move on. She realizes now, that she doesn't want to live with the ghost of boyfriend's past living on her shoulder anymore.

-/-

"Do you?" She asks in return.

He's always been an optimist. He's always been a do-er. 'When life hands you lemons, make lemonade and then sell it for profit.'

And when he saw her sitting there in the bar, all gorgeous blonde hair and a body to kill and legs for days and eyes he's missed seeing more than anything, he knew fate handed him a lemon.

He sure hopes it's possible to move on. Otherwise, they've wasted their lives.

-/-

They breathe out against each other's necks, their bodies moving in unison. A whimper rises from Emma's throat, her hips rising up to meet his deep thrusts.

She feels him all around her. Above her, in her, consuming her whole.

His left hand grasps her hip, moving lower and lower to grip her thigh, bringing it up and over his hip. Her heel digs into his back as he undulates his hips, the drag of his cock against her walls sending her higher.

He whispers her name against her skin, "Emma…" as he drags his lips and tongue over her neck, caressing her collarbone, and nibbling on the swell of her breast before wrapping his lips around her nipple.

She gasps, "Oh, shit," arching her back and grasping his hair with her hand to keep him close.

He leaves one last kiss, lifting himself up onto to just his knees, adjusting her legs around him. He looks down at her, slowly setting a pace again, one hand resting in the curve of her hip while the other drags a line down the center of her body. Between her breasts, over her stomach, he circles her navel once before descending lower. He reaches the thatch of curls between her legs, cupping her as fully as he can while he's inside her.

He watches himself move within her, her juices glistening on him every time he pulls out just enough. He doesn't think there's a better sight; except her dilated pupils and open mouth as his thumb rests on her clit, drawing small circles as he picks up his pace. Her head is thrown back, whimpers and moans filling the air, skin slapping skin, getting louder and rougher as they both get closer to the edge.

Leaning down to kiss her, he circles his hips just right and his pelvis rubbing against her clit creating a delicious friction and she's tensing up; her stomach tightening and her legs wrapping tightly around him and she's shaking, gripping him tight as her walls flutter around him.

She wraps her hands around his hips, silently telling him to keep moving, riding out her orgasm until he see stars burst behind his eyelids and a guttural moan rises from his throat and he's following her over the edge.

He sinks onto his elbows above her, still warm and deep and inside her, moving slowly to ride out their orgasms as long as possible. Smiling softly, he rests his nose against hers, his fingers playing with her hair. "Bloody hell, love," he says, his accent even thicker. She giggles, nipping playfully at his lips. "That was amazing."

Pecking him on the lips, she hums against him, "Mm-hmm."

Pulling back an inch, he looks her in the eyes, his eyes a fraction darker than usual and his hair hanging in his face. He takes in her face, the flush of pink on her cheeks and the rosy red of her lips from where she was biting them, and the sweat lining her forehead and brow. She's never been more beautiful. "I'm so glad we finally found each other," he whispers, "like always."

Her tongue wipes across her upper lip, bringing it into her mouth, her teeth catch on it. She lets out a breathy sigh from her nose, wrapping both her arms around his neck and kissing him fully on the mouth, as a memory from so long ago resurfaces.

-/-

 ** _10 Years Ago_**

The docks were always _their_ place.

Her place was the forest, running through the wilderness, the trees creating a woven home just for her. It was sturdy and stable and just for her. He used to say that it was made just for her because it was warm and beautiful and the green of the leaves matched her eyes.

His place was the open ocean on the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ , the boat his brother had bought before enlisting in the navy.

(Liam always thought it was a bit weird that Killian loved art more than following in his footsteps, but seeing the work that he produced - usually out on the water - never made him question twice.)

Killian loved the ocean for its tenacity one second but calmness the next. She used to say that it was made just for him because the stormy depths of the royal blue waves were unpredictable and a bit scary, just like him.

But sitting on the edge of the dock, feet dangling above the water, watching the waves splash against the sand and the sun resting just on the horizon brought them together.

"So when are you leaving?" He asks, linking his hand through hers, running his thumb over her knuckles.

"Tomorrow afternoon, around three. You'll be there to say goodbye, right?"

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world, Swan."

They look out at the water, watching a mother swing her child around further along the beach. She turns and wraps her arms around him and sticks her face in his neck. "God, I'm going to miss you." Her lips rub against his pulse, making him jump and his heart to beat faster.

"And I you, love." He pulls back, leaving a kiss on her neck and then her cheek, before grabbing her hands and looking down between them. "We'll always be there for each other, right?"

She grabs his face between her hands, her fingertips grazing the tips of hair above his temples. She moves in closer, her nose rubbing against his and her eyes boring into his. "Always."

"And no matter what happens, what life throws our way - which you know it will - we have to find our way back to each other."

She smiles, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she says, "I promise you, Killian Jones, I will _always_ find my way back to you."


End file.
